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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138435">summer moved on (leave me another day)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastern_wind/pseuds/eastern_wind'>eastern_wind</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>of gold and rust, of diamonds and dust [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ANBU - Freeform, Aftermath, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Uchiha Massacre, difference in upbringing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:29:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastern_wind/pseuds/eastern_wind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything in Konoha is about Clan. Except for the day when it <i>is</i> but not in a way she could ever expect.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Namiashi Raidou &amp; Nabu Inaho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>of gold and rust, of diamonds and dust [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1283114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>summer moved on (leave me another day)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>August ends quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air is thin and way too palpable at the same time, clotting in her lungs like never-leaving phlegm. She frowns and spits on the charred by jutsu and years of scorching summer sun surface of the roof. Saliva splatters thickly against the wrinkled tar, and even in the almost pitch black darkness of the early hour of Rabbit she can see - it's just that. No blood, no pus or phlegm that her mind insists is clogging her lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fucking sharingan," she mutters, "fucking Uchiha," and spits again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a thin line of daybreak on the horizon, nothing but a shy smudge of pink, but its softness only adds an insult to an injury. She breathes in deeply, forcing the air in, and doesn't think about the bodies curled on blood-stained floors, their eyes wide and pleading, betrayed and hopeless, disbelieving even in death. She's seen worse, done worse-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, it's different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She recognized their faces - from accidental meetings in strewn across the narrow streets of the Market District many shops of her maternal Clan - <i>no, not hers, thank gods not hers</i> - to the shallow acquaintances of shinobi sharing a mission. She knew some of them by name.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's packed more corpse scrolls tonight than in two years before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, she doesn't think of them. Her mind is a broken record of the scrawny boy Tiger dragged into the hospital, deathly-grey and shaking. She can't just forget his uncontrolled sharingan spinning wildly, its sickly power pulling her under for the briefest moment before Hound-taichō hastily covered it with a makeshift blindfold. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you can save your little brother</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She has four cousins his age. She has-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories - not her own, but so vivid, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>vile</span>
  </em>
  <span> - they make her knees buckle and stomach lurch. With another silent curse she slips into a sitting position, groaning, mindless of last year dead leaves and ash littering the roof. There's no one around this early in the morning, even Shadow District is eerily quiet on this cold September 1st.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Konoha doesn't know, not yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun's still creeping along the jagged treeline of the towering in the distance 44th, when the steps on the stairs warn her of someone's coming. She's numb from the memories splitting her brain, from the blood of hundreds rusting under her nails, from sitting in one position for way too long, but this reflex is ingrained - tantō hisses softly as it leaves the sheath. Then, she hears a familiar whistling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can't- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She won't let this night ruin it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blade screeches unkindly, pushed back at the wrong angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the hinges wail and the door finally opens, she's already back to her previous position, digging in her weapons pouch with shaky fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shitty night?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is, in fact, still one breath away from fleeing, yet she forces a smile at the careful reproach in Raidō's voice, and drowns her unlit cigarette in a half-empty bottle of some cheap sake Yanagi had in her locker back at the HQ. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>your choice, Uchiha-kun</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alcohol only made it worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Inaho?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rai-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is a scratchy, hoarse sound that pulls at her insides and makes him stumble mid-word. She meets his dark eyes, concentrates on the line of his scar as her nostrils flare, taking in his smell. She knows it's him, her many times mission partner, a long time neighbor, even longer friend. His expression shifts, blurs and- </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm so sorry, little brother</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-she doubles over, coughs violently, over and over until she finally vomits, bile and blood and something else, something wrong seeping out of her, thick and dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had to</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows these hands that catch her, and still she fights, pushes him away, but he doesn't let go. She thrashes in his arms until to her right the bottle breaks, sharp ceramic shards cutting her skin, and this pain finally sobers her somewhat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'naho," she hears from behind the veil of a gloomy fog clouding her vision, "'haho, you're alright. I've got you. Got you."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>so sorry</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," she croaks against Raidō's shoulder and passes out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Waking world feels much brighter when she comes to again, limp in Raidō's arms in a too small for two doorway of his apartment. The light bulb in his bathroom is blinking in warped old Iwa code, casting uneven shadows on his face as he helps her undress and drags her into the shower. The water is scalding, and she gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>forgive me, mother</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She stumbles, disoriented with another echo of Weasel's voice filling her, and slips on the wet tile floor. Raidō catches her before she breaks her nose on the faucet. He's still in his uniform and now completely drenched too, she notices, her face pressed against the rough fabric of his vest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wouldn't be the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kai," she whispers, pushing what's left of her substandard civilian-born reserves to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>learn the truth</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kai," Raidō repeats, reaching to help her form the handsign with his own hand. His chakra is raw, blistering between them, but it does what hers could not and the illusion begins to ebb away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slide to the floor in a heap of limbs and sit there until water runs out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raidō sheds his soaked clothes and wraps them both in his silly geese patterned towels before walking off to the kitchen. He doesn't ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't bear the same tattoo on his left forearm as she does, but his trade is no less clad in secrecy. He understands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inaho stays in the bathroom, scrubbing her nails with the coarse brush he keeps by the sink until they're finally clean. He returns with two mugs of green tea and settles on the toilet lid, waiting for her to finish. She doesn't tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It will be out soon anyway, and he'll put two and two together, and think the unthinkable, and keep it to himself. The orders, they both know, are meant to be obeyed and executed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay silent while Inaho untangles her wet hair, frowning at the already showing pale lavender roots. Her reflection looks like a ghost, sunken gray eyes gleaming feverishly at her from the cracked mirror. She hardly recognizes herself in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze drops back to Raidō, a picture of towel-clad calmness in the eye of the storm. His scars are all on display, crooked and sharp, badly healed and barely there thin lines of raised skin. How many times has he been the one to crash through her window, bloodied, and bruised, and sure she'll have his back? What has he seen on those missions?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn't want to know, but hopes he will never </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to witness what she had tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows the line of her sight to a wide expanse of burn marks on his chest and hands her the cup with a knowing look. He wasn't always a master assassin. She wasn't always a lucky sapper. Mistakes were made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It brought them closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>become someone</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"'naho," he chides her, "drink your tea."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes the cup, lingering when their fingers touch around the cool, smooth surface. Hers are still shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you have a mission planned?" she asks, moving to stand between his thighs. They slot together seamlessly, and he shakes his head no against her midsection as his arms snake around her waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, unless-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raidō's fingers deftly unravel the knot holding her towel in place, the chakra of his shunshin tickles her bare skin, and the bathroom goes silent and empty before the damp canary fabric even hits the tiles, save for some specks of ash slowly drifting towards the floor. They curl into each other on his small bed, their feet tangled under weapons oil and smoke smelling sheets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good," he hums into her damp hair. "You need a break."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light filtering through the blinds paints the bedroom in greyscale. It's painfully familiar, as is the smell of him, the wistfulness in his tone, the words he doesn't say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People like her don't last in ANBU. Civilian-born. Placeholders. Cannon fodder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rabbit is of an Ancient and Noble Clan. Tiger and Horse come from shinobi families. She doesn't know jack shit about Cat, and Hound-taichō... well, he is a walking legend regardless of his many masks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inaho-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remembers the body scrolls, hundreds of them, packed tightly in narrow wooden boxes, and, at last, fifteen years later, understands her grandmother's decision. She doesn't belong to anything, alone in her name since her father's family passed, so she won't lead death to the Clan's door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathes Raidō in, the closest friend she has besides her once genin teammate Yanagi, but for all the time she ran with Team Ro, the thought of them suddenly feels like a kunai to the gut. Weasel used to be one of them. He wanted the change too. Peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inaho wanted to prove the system wrong, but she can't. Not like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>avenge</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The last of genjutsu still lingers, heavy in her throat with the sound of Itachi's voice, but she pushes it down and inhales the fall drifting into the room through the cracked window. It will die down, she knows, reduce to nothing, but she will remember what he's left behind. She will carry the ghosts of family homes and clueless hearts with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cheek is pressed against the burns on Raidō's chest, and she listens to his steady heartbeat, always so sure. It stutters when she says,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm handing my mask in."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers find the tattoo on her forearm, trace it gently, almost fervently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sounds of ruckus on the street make them both raise their heads before she gets to answer. The voices grow louder, turn into cries, someone starts banging on the door, not bothering to stop until Raidō comes to unlock it. Inaho is sure what it's about, so she trails after him, careless for her naked state as he is. Whoever is the messenger, the assumptions are going to be the least of their concerns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Raidō, get your bony ass up- Oh, Nabu-san?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's Shiranui, a tokubetsu that just moved into the apartment under hers two weeks ago. She remembers Raidō telling her they've served as the Fourth's Guards together, knows he works for Intel now. One look at her tattoo is all it takes for his eyes to narrow suspiciously, but she dismisses him with a curt nod and heads back in to get dressed and collect her tantō.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she returns to the door, Raidō already knows. He has that haunted look that tells her he too knows, one man, even a genius, can't kill almost four hundred people alone. The truth - a twisted, unspeakable thing - hangs heavily between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inaho can't tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raidō doesn't ask.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezes past the men with her shoulders set straight but, before she gets to disappear in a hallway, she hears,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'naho..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn't flee no matter how much she wants it, and turns back to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands leaning against the doorway in all his naked glory, more scars and burns than smooth unblemished skin. The moment stretches and warps in a kaleidoscope of red-eyed faces until she's wound tighter than koto strings and Raidō knows it too as she knows him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get some soap after you're done in the HQ. Mine's all ran out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's blood and sweat on their hands that no water will ever wash out, but there's also trust no secrets can break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Got you," she nods, and leaves.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>well hello there</p><p>i kind of forgot i wrote this little snippet in between covid disaster and covid disaster#2 so here it is<br/>the series is not abandoned, and i'll be posting again as soon as my mind is in the right place</p><p>take care of your family and tell them you love them<br/>stay safe</p></blockquote></div></div>
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